


Wubba Lubba Squanch Dub

by nev_longbottom



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, this will not end well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 09:04:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12407337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nev_longbottom/pseuds/nev_longbottom
Summary: The weapon must take initiative.





	Wubba Lubba Squanch Dub

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this out of sheer rage that there are only two other fics on this pairing. I also wrote it in two hours and am posting without a beta reader so you've been warned.

She taps her fingers against the edge of the console and turn around. The weapon can see her rage in the tense line of her shoulder above her uniform. The skin beneath both eye sockets is approximately 48 pigments darker than normal. Agent Gueterman is not well by the standards of her species.

“You failed.” Her hand clenches around the hilt of her gun. The other agents in the debriefing room tense. Agent Gueterman is known for her habit of shooting field operatives when displeased. In the past few months, she has been easier to displease.

“You had your mission objectives, you had the location, and you had everything handed to you on a fucking silver goddamn platter.” Her thumb rests on the safety of her gun. “Why haven’t you apprehended Integalactic Criminal 8702839LKW?”

The weapon reports. “The criminal was prepared and killed 11 agents before making his escape. This weapon was not able to follow the criminal during his escape. He was warned. There is a leak in the Galactic Federation.”

“Fucking bullshit, Phoenixperson.” She pulls her gun out of the holster and throws it at the weapon. The metal strikes his cybernetic eye with a dull clack. It almost distracts the weapon from the agitation in the base of his wings. The feeling does not belong to the weapon. It is a distraction.

Agent Gueterman steps as close to the weapon as she can without standing in the weapon’s reach. “Is your conditioning breaking down?,” She snaps. “Did you just let Squanchy get away? You want me to seriously believe that your old war buddy just fucking escaped the best assassin in the history of our Federation?”

The weapon notices her hair is approximately 1.53 jiirox shorter than it had been before his mission. He has to approximate, the lengths are uneven in places. The weapon knows this is a sign of instability in her species. The sight of it makes the weapon experience sensations he does not normally experience near other beings. The sensation is concern.

“The weapon did not allow the criminal to escape. The weapon can submit to reconditioning if that is your order.”

Agent Gueterman turns away from the weapon. “Just fucking go. I can’t stand to look at you. You’re off the mission. Make sure you-”

The sense of rage in the back of the weapon’s wings has grown strong enough that the weapon has does not catch her orders. His programming stutters for a moment. The weapon is not to speak without being ordered to speak. The weapon must follow orders.

The weapon just fucking goes as ordered.

 

The weapon is to report to his assigned cryopod after he is dismissed from mission debriefs. The weapon has not been dismissed. The weapon was ordered to just fucking go and has no orders. 

No orders. As per programming, when no orders have been given, the weapon needs to take initiative to complete his mission.

The weapon failed his mission. The weapon has been reassigned. No assignment has been given. The weapon must take initiative.

He turns towards the closest appropriate work station and looks up the medical file for Agent Gueterman. The agent’s tracking devices has register and 58% decrease in sleep, and 13% decrease in rational thinking, a 3% average decrease in body fat, a 5% decrease in vital nutrients for her species natural health. Agent Gueterman’s file includes a warning for possible diagnosis of Antisocial Personality Disorder and a warning for confirmed diagnosis of Bond Rejection Syndrome.

The weapon will assist Agent Gueterman for future missions.

The weapon reviews his knowledge of recipes for Agent Gueterman’s species to find the appropriate combination of nutrients to begin to improve Agent Gueterman’s health.

The rage in the back of the weapon’s wings starts to fade back to its usual combination of sadness, frustration and pride. 

It takes 89.63 glorks to obtain the necessary items for the weapon’s self-assigned submission and report to Agent Gueterman’s quarters to begin his work. 

The Agent’s bunk is not optimal. The weapon has to replace the fabric with kisticlac silk and encircle the bunk with a careful collection of wooden twigs. The wooden twigs are vital. The weapon does not have enough twigs to build a complete canopy but the partial completion is acceptable. Sleep cannot be optimal without a true nest.

The nutritional nutrient items are still being prepared when Agent Gueterman enters her quarters. She stills as the doors slide closed behind her.

The weapon kneels when she enters and drops his wings to the ground. He arches his neck and waits for instruction. The weapon is vulnerable. 

“Not again,” she says. She sounds tired. She should not sound resigned. “Damnit, Phoenixperson.”

The voice matches the feelings in the back of his wings.

The weapon looks up at her as she runs her hand through her hair and tugs. “This is the tenth time. You can’t keep breaking your conditioning to take care of me. I can’t take this.”

The weapon has not been instructed to rise, but the weapon must take initiative. He stands up and reaches out for her.

“Don’t-” she says, stepping out of the weapon’s reach. “It’s harder when we touch.” 

“You must be optimal for mission assignment,” he says. “It is imperative for the mission that you take care of yourself, Tammy.”

The feeling in his wings is overwhelming. It feels familiar. The weapon does not remember this but it feels familiar.

Her hands start to reach for him but she pulls back. “I can’t take this anymore. You have to stop this Phoenixperson. You have to break the bond with me.”

The weapon assesses her micro expressions and fetches a warm linen from Tammy’s storage wall. “Phoenixperson does not have a bond. It is imperative that you take care of yourself.”

Tammy pulls her gun out of its holster as the weapon approaches with the blanket. She holds the mouth of the gun under the weapon’s chin as the weapon holds out the blanket for her to take.

“It is imperative that you take care of yourself, Tammy,” the weapon repeats.

She flicks the safety off and looks the weapon in the eyes. “I order you to stop.”

The weapon drops the blanket. “Phoenixperson has stopped.”

The feeling in his wings starts to ache. The sadness radiates strong enough that it bleeds into the weapon’s own feelings.

“I can’t keep doing this, Birdperson.” Tammy lowers the gun and walks over to the side table. There’s a whir each time her prosthetic left ankle bends to take a step. She has not been caring for her robotic joints. She opens a prescription bottle of bond blockers and dry swallows two pills.

The base of his wings twitch and he feels something break open inside him. He can feel Tammy’s regards and concerns as clearly as if she were saying them outloud. A desperate sense of regret and yearning. The weapon never wanted her to feel this way. The weapon wants her to be happy and healthy and to share a nest, have eggs and a life together- 

The weapon needs- 

No. Not the weapon, Birdperson needs-

“Phoenixperson, report for reconditioning.” There is fluid starting to roll down her face. 

The feeling in the base of the weapon’s wing goes dull. 

The weapon reports for reconditioning.


End file.
